


Some Day One Day

by QueensRadio



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Borhap Boys as a band, Epic Friendships, band au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensRadio/pseuds/QueensRadio
Summary: “A misty castle awaits for youAnd you shall be a Queen“A Borhap Boys Band AU
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Some Day One Day

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been on my mind for months and finally it’s written, edited and finished! This first chapter is just an intro to all the four boys. They’re all living their own separate lives, apart from Joe and Rami who of course I had to make best friends before they were a band. 
> 
> I’m really excited to share this!! 
> 
> First I do wanna thank my friend Avery for helping me edit this, and motivating and encouraging me to write and post this, her tumblr and AO3 are seasiderhapsody if you wanna follow her she’s amazing at writing!!
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy this!!

**November 2015, New York**

Joe takes a sip of his beer, and watches as a baseball game breaks out in front of him. It’s unusually warm for a Thanksgiving day in New York, so of course his brother decides to call up his friends from high school and have a game at the park near their house. Joe tags along, mainly so he doesn’t have to help his mom and sister with the cooking.

He used to play baseball himself, back when he was young and bursting at the seams with energy. Then in high school, the game got boring for him along with everything else, except his love for music. He hung up his cap sophomore year and picked up the bass full time. His brother, however, has been playing for twelve years now, and got into college with a scholarship. Joe isn’t particularly jealous, but his brother’s stability reminded him of the uncertainty that lay ahead of him.

When Joe graduated, he did try the traditional college path. He enrolled at a fairly decent college a couple of hours away, which had been the furthest he’d ever been from home for a long period of time. His best friend, Rami, had been the main drive to go there among others. Joe was studying to be a sound engineer, and Rami got some ideas about doing musical theater, but other plans got in the way. The summer before his junior year had been spent lazily together, along with their brothers, Sami and John, and some childhood friends. And one late night in the Mazzello’s garage after the others had left, Joe told Rami as he strummed his bass how much he wanted to start a band. That’s how Easy Company started - Joe’s dad had been reading another book about WWII and Joe caught a glimpse of the phrase on the back cover. Soon they found Ashton and Jesse, their guitarist and drummer, and the band was off to the races. 

As much as they tried to keep practice going along with their classes, it became clear which one was the priority. He dropped out in the summer of 2014, much to the dismay of his parents. Rami, who was a year and a half older than him, had already graduated with a degree in music, but his parents weren’t fond of the idea, expecting their son to study something more practical.  
But, the two never looked back after that, no matter how much their families weren’t too sold on the whole band idea. 

Just over a year later, however, the band lost a member, and their biggest gigs thus far had been a few local bars and clubs. Joe wasn’t so sure he’d made the right call. 

“Joe!” he hears his name called. He whips his around to see the one person he wants to talk to at that moment running up to him: Rami. 

“Hey,” Joe says, as he sits down next to him on the bench.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Joe,” Rami says, grabbing the beer from Joe’s hand and taking a sip from it.

“Hey! I’m not thankful for that!” Joe scoffs.

Rami smirks and shrugs, giving the bottle back to him, “Well I am.”

Joe shakes his head, taking another swig of before setting the frosty bottle down. “Happy Thanksgiving. Did Sami come with you?”

No,” Rami shakes his head. “He’s stuck in traffic, driving from Long Island.” 

“Well, I hope he doesn’t miss dinner,” Joe says absentmindedly as he watches John hit a ball past first base.

“I don’t think my mom would ever let that happen,” Rami chuckles, “She’ll postpone Thanksgiving until Christmas if she has to.”

Joe turns back to Rami with a grin and nods.

Rami looks over at the baseball field, waving at Joe’s brother as the teams begin to switch places. Catching his eye, John jogs over to the two on the bench. 

“Hey Malek,” John says, reaching out to grab Rami’s hand. Instead of shaking it, Rami pulls him into a hug and John lets out a laugh. 

“Hey Maz.”

“You two still playing the bench, I see,” John says, straightening up with a smirk and putting his hands on his hips.

“You know, I’m pretty sure football is the official sport played on Thanksgiving,” Rami retorts, making Joe chuckle.

“Hey,” John says, playfully rolling his eyes. “Not if you’re me. Baseball is the only sport I know.”

“How’s college then?” Rami asks. “Are you getting enough of it in?”

“Good, yeah. I love Florida,” John nods. “Beautiful down there. Hey, you lugs wouldn't wanna play with us, would ya?”

“Oh, you know I’m no good at the game,” Rami sighs, shaking his head. He shoots a look at his friend. “What about you, Joe? May the best Mazzello win? I’ll root for you, as always.”

Joe stews with the idea for a moment, and then shakes his head as well. “Nah, I’m alright.”

“Are you ok, Joe?” John asks, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joe nods casually. “Just don’t feel like playing, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” John says with a shake of his head. 

“Hey! Maz! Quit chatting and get back ‘ere!” one of his friends on the field calls out. 

“Well, that’s my cue,” Johns nods. Spinning on his heel he runs back to the game with one last wave at his brother. 

Joe and Rami wave back, and then it’s quiet for a while.

“So,” Rami starts to say, turning towards Joe. “What’s gotten young Joey down in the dumps on Thanksgiving Day?”

“What do you mean?” Joe says, narrowing his eyes.

“Since when do you not want to play baseball?” Rami asks, “You love baseball.”

Joe shrugs, picking up his beer, only to have Rami take it from him once again.

“Hey!” Joe exclaims, trying to take it back before Rami takes another sip, but failing. He shakes his head and turns away as Rami let’s out a burp. “I’m fine, I just don’t feel like playing. I haven’t played in a while.”

“You sure?” Rami says, giving him back his beer bottle.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Joe nods.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Rami shrugs, looking back at the field.

Rami can tell his lying. And Joe knows this, but he doesn’t say anything. They’ve known each other for two decades, so it’s absolutely impossible to hide something from one another. They knew each other better than any one in the world, even their families. Joe could tell when Rami sat a certain way that he was nervous, and Rami could see past Joe’s expressionless face and know something is wrong. Especially at Thanksgiving, the brooding looks are uncharacteristic of Joe. Normally, he’s the one dragging Rami into pick-up games and getting overly excited about parties. 

The two of them also know that there’s no use in playing dumb. So Rami’s just waiting for Joe to say something.

“Fine,” Joe says finally, letting out a long sigh. “ I’ll tell you.”

“What’s wrong now?” Rami says in a coy voice, turning to him again and clasping his hands together in a sarcastic way. “Tell Dr. Malek.”

“All my life, I was in someone’s shadow,” Joe starts to say. “Mary was the smart one, John was the baseball star, and then there was me.”

“You make a convincing point,” Rami teases. Joe elbows him as he laughs. 

“Okay, okay, not the time for jokes I see,” Rami concedes.

There’s a few moments of silence. The two of them watch John catch the ball at third base, sending his sprinting friend back to the old, wooden dugout. 

“Joe,” Rami shakes his head. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Joe asks. 

“Selling yourself short. I know these last few months haven’t been what you wanted, but that’s no reason to go and beat yourself up. You have me, John, and Sami to do that for you!”

Joe can’t help but smile at that, but he turns his head so his friend can’t see. 

“You’re one of the funniest people I know man,” Rami tells him sincerely, leaning his elbows on his knees. 

“I am not,” Joe scoffs. “And besides, that’s not exactly a useful skill.”

“For a comedian it is,” Rami points out. 

“Yeah, well I’m not trying to be the next Robin Williams.”

“No, you’re trying to be the next Paul McCartney,” Rami says, putting an arm around him. “And you will be. You’re the best bass player there is, dude.”

“Okay, now I know you’re lying,” Joe chuckles, shrugging his friend away. 

“Am not!” Rami exclaims, rolling his eyes.

“McCartney’s still around, you know, am I better than him?” Joe asks jokingly.

“Don’t push it,” Rami smirks, making Joe grin.

“I’ve just been thinking lately, I guess,” Joe shrugs, thinking for a moment. “Do you think I’m having a quarter life crisis?”

“A what?” Rami asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, like a midlife crisis, only I’m not quite there yet,” Joe says.

Rami lets out a loud laugh that catches the eyes of some of John’s teammates. One of them misses the ball as he stares, and that makes Joe start chuckling too.

“You’re not even at a quarter life crisis, Joe. You’re twenty three,” Rami wheezes. “You’re always so melodramatic.”

“Hey, it can happen!” Joe says. “And I’m not melodramatic.”

“Well then, everyone must be in a crisis at your age,” Rami says. “I mean Sami is stuck in traffic on Thanksgiving Day all because he had to work the day before, that’s a crisis.”

Joe laughs, shaking his head and taking the beer bottle back from beside Rami and having one final swig . “What’s your crisis then?”

“I have to deal with your crisis, that’s my crisis,” Rami smirks, tilting his head towards him.

“Hey!” Joe exclaims, making them both laugh. “But really though, what is it?” 

“I’m on the same boat as you, Joe. I’m just less emo about it,” Rami explains. Joe rolls his eyes and pretends he didn’t hear that last part, “I have no clue what I’m going to do if the band doesn’t work out.”

“So, we’re on the same page,” Joe adds.

“Of course we are,” Rami nods. “We’re in this together, Joe, you and me.”

Joe takes a deep breath in, and lets it out as a long sigh. Glancing up at the large oak tree above them, he watches the leaves away back and forth in the wind. Sunlight peaks in through the cracks between them, just small hints at the afternoon sun setting above them. That means it’s getting late. Dinner will be served soon. It’s been a weird, tumultuous year for the both of them. So many things to be thankful for, but a couple of things Joe doesn’t know he can forgive the world for. Still, they’ll all go around the table saying their thanks, like they do every year. 

“So, what are we gonna do?” Joe asks incredulously.

There’s a long pause as he looks to Rami for an answer. Joe watches as his friend’s purses his lips in that way he always does when he’s got something important to say. 

“Well actually, there is one thing that happened,” Rami begins, looking down at the grass beneath them. 

“What is it?” Joe asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t going to tell you today just because it’s Thanksgiving,” he continues, “and who wants to talk work stuff on a holiday?”

“What is it?” Joe presses, staring at him confused.

“Remember that Irish pub in Poughkeepsie we played a few weeks ago?” Rami asks hesitantly.

“Oh, the one by the train station? I remember it,” Joe sighs. A big crowd of regulars was celebrating someone’s birthday or promotion or firing - it was hard to tell. They’d pretty much yelled over half of the songs they played, and Joe had grumbled so much about it that the one girl who tried flirting with him all night gave up within a few minutes. They still got paid, but it hadn’t been fun. 

“Well, apparently some music guy from L.A. hangs out there when he’s visiting his second home or whatever, and he saw us play that night,” Rami continued as he knee started to bounce, “He just called me yesterday. I guess he got my number from the owners.” 

Joe straightened up, eyes going wide with surprise. 

“What’d he say?” he asks eagerly.

“Well, he’s putting together a festival of unsigned artists in L.A. in February. And I guess he liked our sound, because he wants us to play there. He says it’s going to be big,” Rami tells him.

“Really?!” Joe cries.

Rami nods. 

Without warning, Joe flings himself at his best friend and wraps him into a huge, hamfisted hug. Rami begins to laugh at the sudden change in attitude. 

“Whoa there, haha!” Rami says, “We’ll have to go there after the holidays.”

Joe pulls back and looks at Rami, his face lighting up.

“This could be huge, Rami,” Joe says softly, almost like he can’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Only problem is...Ashton,” Rami says, sighing.

Joe’s face falters as he remembers the reality he’s living in. 

Ashton was their lead guitarist, although he hadn’t been their first choice. They’d been hard pressed to find someone who would play full time with them, so at that point they were desperate for anyone. Rami had met him in an algebra class at school back when this all started, and he’d been enlisted in the cause pretty quick. As much as he tried to be a friend to the guys, he never quite fit in with their rhythm. And almost two weeks ago he announced that he proposed to his girlfriend and she doesn’t want him having an unstable job or impractical job. 

“You’re right. We can’t play without guitar,” he murmurs, “Unless you can play and sing?”

“You know I’m not that good, Joe,” Rami says, shaking his head. 

“Like Ashton was ‘that good’,” Joe scoffs. 

“Even so, I still think it’d be nice to have someone else playing lead guitar,” Rami says. “Gives me more space to perform. Less nerves.”

Joe nods. He knows he’s right. Before Ashton, Rami used to choke up sometimes, skipping lyrics to focus on chords. It’s not that he wasn’t capable, he just got in his own head about. Like Joe has been for a while now.

“Guess we’ll have to find a new one before February. We could always hold auditions,” Joe shrugs. “You think we could find a good player with a good personality?” 

“I think we will,” Rami nods. “I know we will.”

Joe doesn’t trust the certainty in his voice.

It’s quiet for a few moments, while they both look over at the baseball diamond. There’s cheering coming from John’s team. What a surprise. 

Joe stands up from the bench without really thinking. It’s what he needs right now, to not think. He needs to get his mind off of the details that might get in their way. Something good is coming for them. He just needs to accept it. 

Putting his hand in his pockets, he looks over at Rami, with a sheepish grin.

“I think,” he begins, “I think I’m going to go play some baseball.”

Rami stands up too, smiling at him. “That’s the spirit!”

Before either can move, Rami pulls Joe into another hug, catching Joe by surprise.

“You’re a great musician, Joe,” he whispers. “We’re gonna do great things.”

“So are you,” he echoes back. “And you’re a great friend, Rami. I couldn’t do this without you,” he adds, patting his back a few times.

As they pull apart, Rami smiles. “You too, Joe.”

The boys begin to walk towards the sandy dirt ahead of them. The nagging thoughts about success are still the back of both their minds, but something about heading into this together makes everything seem like it’ll work out just fine. 

************

**December 2015, London**

Gwilym takes a bite out of his slice of pizza, shaking his head at the sweet taste oozing around the cheese. 

“I still don’t think pineapple belongs on pizza,” he says, somewhat disgusted, placing the piece onto his girlfriend’s plate and grabbing his own box. Sophia playfully rolls her eyes. 

“It’s just pineapple, Gwil,” she chuckles.

They’ve been together for nearly a year now, and the petty disputes are still plentiful.

“Would you mix pineapple with ketchup?” Gwil asks, grabbing a slice of his trusted pepperoni.

He’s ignored the bolder selections on Pizza Express’ menu for most of his adolescence. Sophia won’t change that.

“No, probably not,” she agrees, shaking her head and taking another bite.

It’s a casual night for them. They’re hanging back in their apartment, only a few dim lights left on and the city sky of London peering through the windows. They’re both curled up on the lumpy beige couch, as the cheap TV that Gwilym’s had since uni faintly plays the evening news. He’s in sweatpants and heavy forest green pullover, which is far more appropriate for the early winter weather than Sophia’s shorts and oversized t-shirt. Even her hair is tucked back into a sleek ponytail, like she’s about to perform a cheerleading routine. Instead, she’s snuggling underneath a heap of blankets.

“Then why would you mix it with pizza?” he demands.

“It’s not the same thing,” Sophia tells him. 

“Whatever you say,” he smirks, trying his best to hide an eye roll.

She notices the movement and shoots him a knowing glance. They both laugh gently, as he takes another bite of his pizza. 

“The X-Factor finale is on tonight,” she says. “Are you excited?”

Gwil swallows reluctantly and shakes his head. “Not really.”

The corners of her lips upturn in a giddy grin.

“Oh, that’s right. You haven’t been excited this whole season,” Sophia teases.

“I have my reasons,” Gwilym shrugs, trying to listen to what the anchor on the screen in front of him is saying, but he’s too far into a piece on the economy for him to make any sense of it.

“Have you even been paying attention when we’ve been watching?” Sophia asks.

“A little bit,” he nods. It’s true, Gwil had been focusing on some of the acts, most often the ones he hated, out of some weird form of spite.

“Are you going to audition again next year?” she tries, biting her lip.

“Absolutely not,” Gwil tells her with a firm shake of his head. 

“So does your lack of excitement have anything to do with Simon Cowell sending you home after judges’ houses?” Sophia smirks. 

“No,” he scoffs indignantly. He rolls his eyes as she narrows his eyebrows at him. He sighs.

“Maybe a little.”

“Who cares what Simon Cowell thinks of you, Gwil. You know you’re talented, and that’s all that should matter,” Sophia tells him. “Besides, Simon Cowell looks like a Simpsons cartoon. You really want to listen to him?”

Gwil lets out a chuckle. “No, I guess not.” 

“Can he even sing himself?” Sophia asks. 

“I don’t know, actually. I’ve never heard him sing before,” Gwil shrugs. 

“Exactly!” Sophia exclaims. 

She’s right, and he knows it. It’s what’s most frustrating about the whole situation. He’s mad over something that he can’t fix, something completely unimportant. X-Factor wasn’t the be all end all of music. 

“I just think when you’re in the actual show, you realize it’s not as glamorous as you think it is,” Gwil tries to explain, but he can tell it’s lost on her. She just thinks he’s bitter, which, he is, but it’s not just that. 

“So what are you going to do now then?” she asks with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head. It’s only ten to seven, but it’s been a long week for both of them.

Gwil gets quiet as her words roll around in his head. He’s been kicking around the idea for the past few months, but hasn’t ever even mentioned it to her, aside from brief mutterings like “Man, wouldn’t somewhere warmer be great right now?” It’s been too daunting to broach with Sophia, because he has no idea how she’ll react. 

He decides to finally tell her as he swallows the last bit of crust.

“I was thinking maybe moving out to L.A. would help?” he says slowly.

Her expression falls, mouth and eyes widening. Not what he was hoping for.

“What?!” Sophia exclaims. “L.A? Like, California? Why there?”

“Just want some change, you know?” he tries with a shrug, “And it might be easier to get noticed there.”

Sophia rolls her eyes, but this time all the playfulness is gone.

“Gwil, some change is moving from London to Cambridge. You’re talking about leaving the country,” she says, setting her plate down on the coffee table and standing with a solemn air.

She’s quiet as she steps slowly towards one of the windows. She’s gazing out pensively when she speaks.

“What about us?”

He’d had his head in his hands and he ruminated over his mistake, but he looks up now, his hair falling into his face, eyes widening. 

“What do you mean?” Gwil asks, perplexed.

“You’re moving thousands of miles away and you’re going to be in a completely different time zone,” Sophia tells him. “What’re we going to do?” 

He pauses. This didn’t occur to him.

“You don’t want to come with me?” Gwil says, furrowing his eyebrows. 

She shakes her head with a hollow laugh. She still won’t turn to look at him.

“I have a job here, Gwil. And I have family and friends close by. What am I going to have there?” she asks.

“A boyfriend!” Gwil exclaims, now standing up exasperatedly. 

Sophia whips around too.

“I can’t just leave everything behind. I don’t know why you’re willing to,” Sophia shakes her head, walking past him into the kitchen. She takes a seat at one of the stools and props her elbows on the wooden counter, now letting her forehead fall to her palms.

He bounds around the other side, leaning over to try to get her to meet his eyes.

“Because being a singer has been my dream since I can remember,” he whispers gently, “What were you going to do if I made it far enough on X-Factor and I’d be traveling all the time?” 

Sophia shrugs, sighing before she answers. “You would just be traveling. You would still come home to London.” 

“London is my home. Don’t put words in my mouth,” Gwil tells her. 

“I’m not. But it’s different, Gwil,” Sophia says.

“How?” Gwil asks.

“L.A. will change you,” Sophia says.

“It won’t. You know me, Soph. Don’t you?” Gwil scoffs. 

“I do. And I don’t want that to change,” Sophia nods. “Have you seen what that city does to people?” 

Gwil sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I think this is my one shot, Soph,”  
“What’re you going to do there that you can’t do in London?” Sophia asks. 

“Everything that didn’t work out in London because there’s more opportunities there,” Gwil tells her. 

“Will you come back if it doesn’t work out?” Sophia asks. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Gwil scoffs. 

“Gwil,” Sophia rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say that. Now you’re putting words in my mouth.” 

“I love London. I’m going to come back eventually,” Gwil tells her. “I’ll visit every couple months, I promise.” 

“Do you know how much money that is?” Sophia says. 

“I’ll have a job,” Gwil says.

Sophia says silent for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking. “You’re going to find someone else.”

It stings in his chest. Her words are like an icy poison. The entire time he’d been picturing roughing it L.A. with Sophia by his side, ordering pizzas to whatever tiny flat they settled. He had pictured her at the back of the crowd of open mic nights, cheering him on, as she’d been for months now. He hadn’t ever imagined finding someone else. The whole idea left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“You don’t trust me, do you?” Gwil’s eyes widen.

Sophia sighs, looking around their flat. She gets up, glancing at Gwil, before walking off. Gwil turns to watch her walk over into their bedroom, closing the door behind her. 

He sighs, leaning his head back. He and Sophia have only been dating for a year, and they only just moved in together a couple months before. It’s selfish, he knows, to expect her to move to L.A. with him. But he really doesn’t know what’s going to happen to them if he goes, and she doesn’t. But being a musician has been his dream since he was a little kid. He’s twenty three now, still young, but he needs to start somewhere. He currently works at a pub, where he likes to plays his guitar and sings on open mic nights. He doesn’t know what’ll be different about L.A., but he has to try. 

He gets up from his seat and goes over to the living room, grabbing the laptop on the coffee table and sitting down on the couch. Before dinner, he was researching flats in L.A. and potential job opportunities. He was hoping the conversation about moving was going to go well, and he could tell her he already found a couple good places they could live. He looks over the flats again, clicking on one he liked before. It’s a perfect flat, not too expensive and in a good part of town. He knows someone else can claim it at any second, and if he wants to live there he should act fast. He knows he shouldn’t just yet, but he clicks on a tab that lets him email the agent for this house. He asks if he could view the house in a couple of weeks, thinking it over a little before he hits send. He has to do this, he has to try. 

After he sends the email, he gets up, setting the laptop down on the coffee table. He walks over to the bedroom, listening closely for any sounds, before slowly opening the door. He looks into the room, opening the door wider when he sees Sophia laying on their bed, typing something on her phone. She looks up at him, and Gwil almost turns back around when he notices her red eyes.

“Soph,” Gwil starts to say.

“I’m sorry,” Sophia says, moving to sit at the side of the bed.

“Me too,” he nods, wanting to walk in but choosing to stay in the doorway instead.

“I just don’t want you to go. There’s no point in lying about it,” Sophia tells him.

Gwil closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, before speaking, 

“I think I’m going to g-” 

“You should think about it more, Gwil,” Sophia says with a strain in her voice.

“I have, Soph. I’ve thought about it for weeks-“

“Wish you would have clued me in to it then. “

Gwil purses his lips as he sighs. She’s right. He should have. But there was something so appealing about the spontaneity of it all. It was adventurous and daring, and he’d expected Sophia to be swept off her feet by the proposal of it. Now, staring at her bleary eyes, he realized how naive that was.

He steps towards her slowly, trying not to upset her. Sitting down next to her on the edge of the bed, he grasps her hand in his. She doesn’t soften at his touch, much to his dismay, but he holds on nonetheless.

“You’re right, love,” Gwil tells her. “I should have. And I’m a fool for not making this more of a mutual decision, but the idea just spiraled so quickly.”

Sophia sniffles and looks up away from him, as if she’s trying to hide tears from him. She shakes her head as her free fingers dab at her eyes.

“Look, I found a flat that we could both live in, if you would come with me,” he says softly. He begins to bring her hand up to his lips to kiss it as he continues, “The rent is good for L.A., and it isn’t the usual hole in the wall-“

“You found a flat already?” Sophia says, furrowing her eyebrows and ripping her hand from his grasp, merely inches away from his mouth. “You’re really serious about this?”

“Yes, I am,” Gwil nods, placing his hands on the bed and pushing himself upward. “And I really want you to come.”

Sophia turns away from him again, and this time, the tears fall past her eyes. He watches as her palm wipes away at her cheek. His chest begins to hurt. 

“Soph,” he starts to say, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Stop!” she yells, grabbing his wrist and removing it from her arm. She looks angry. The tears are practically red. 

Sophia’s face falls as she sees Gwilym’s own startled eyes. She lets go of his wrist as she stammers. The room goes quiet for a moment. 

“I’m sorry. Can I just have some space right now?” Sophia asks. But it’s not so much a question but rather an answer. She is telling him what must be done. 

Gwil breathes heavily, as he remains frozen for a moment. He looks at her wet face for a second, and then nods. “Sure.” 

Sophia doesn’t say anything else as her boyfriend stands. Gwil turns around and slowly walks out of the room, closing the door behind him with the softest touch. He goes back to the living room, sitting back down on the couch. It’s more of a flop than a sit, and as he does it practically all the air in his lungs leaves him. 

He takes out his phone and earbuds from his pocket and goes to Spotify, hitting shuffle on a random playlist, getting another piece of pizza from the box on the coffee table. He grabs his laptop again, sighing as he goes back to his email. He’s about to take a bite of his pizza, when he sees he’s got a new email in his inbox. He clicks on it, eyes widening when he sees it’s from the agent he just emailed.

************

**December 2015, London**

Ben sighs as he opens the door of his dressing room, stepping out into the long hallway. During the day it’s filled with people, bustling about their business. Makeup artists and costumers run from room to room, haggling the actors into their wardrobe. Personal assistants make coffee runs and one travel cup gets spilled on the navy carpet nearly every day. Assistant directors yell instructions down the void. And those off screen for the moment mingle among the corridor as they escape the set.

But now it’s empty, and the stark white walls are all Ben can see. It’s eerie, but comforting.

It’s the last day of filming before the holidays, and he’s relieved that he can finally go home. When he first started filming Eastenders a couple years ago, everything was new and fun, but now it’s not quite the same feeling anymore. He doesn’t have anymore secrets to learn about the studio. The cast members bore him at their get together, and some even get on his nerves. They’re a family all right, but Ben’s beginning to want to leave the nest.

“Ben!!” he hears from the other end of the hallway. He whips around and sees his cast-mate, Jacqueline, walking towards him from her own room. She’s still got on her set makeup, and her hair looks like it was set by one of the stylists a little while after the last cut. But her coat is on, her bag around her shoulder, and she’s holding a small bag in her hand. As she gets nearer, Ben can see the champagne bottle’s gold foiled top poking out from a festive design.

“Are you leaving already?” she says with a frown. “We still have the cast Christmas party!” 

“Hey, Jacqueline,” Ben smiles, waving at her. “I’m going to have to miss it this year, sorry. I have to head back to Dorset, my brother is going to be here soon.” That’s sort of the truth. They didn’t have to leave today. Michael had said he’d pick him up the next day even, but Ben demandes they leave as soon as he got off of work. He didn’t want to admit that he was dying to skip the festivities, but he couldn’t say he was super keen to see all of his relatives either.

“I’ve already given my Christmas presents for you guys to the producers to pass out, so I hope you enjoy yours,” he tells Jacqueline. 

“Well can I give you my gift now then? Since I won’t see you until after the holidays.” she asks, pointing to her dressing room. 

“Yeah, of course,” he nods, sighing as she leads the way to her room. 

There’s a sour taste in his mouth as he follows her. He does feel bad about his early exit. Jaqueline has become the sister he never had. And while he hates what the show has done to him, he can’t blame her for any of it. Nowadays he tries to distance himself as much as possible, but he’s missed her friendship in the process. 

“But you have to promise you won’t open it until Christmas, ok?” Jaqueline says like a schoolteacher, rummaging through her bag and taking out a wrapped gift. 

“Why can’t I open it now? It’s only a week away,” Ben pouts. Jacqueline looks up at him with narrowed eyes, a scrunched nose, and a cheeky smile.

“Because, it’s also your birthday present and it’s way to early for that,” she tells him booping his nose before handing the gift over to him. “Happy birthday, Benny boy! And Merry Christmas!”

Ben rolls his eyes playfully at the nickname, taking the gift. “Thank you, Jackie.”

He throws his arm around her and pulls her into a tight hug. It feels a bit cold, and he holds her longer than he might have normally, the thoughts of guilt creeping back into his mind. 

“I hope you enjoy the gift,” she whispers in his shoulder. Her voice quivers, almost like she’s emotional. Like she knows what he’s been thinking all these months. 

Ben swears he can hear her sniffle.

“I’m sure I will,” he murmurs back. 

They pull apart with delicate smiles, and Jacqueline, ever the actress, looks as unaware and cheery as ever. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for even a little?” she chides as she begins to pack up her bag. Picking up the champagne, the two of them head out of the room one last time. “I’m sure everyone else would want to wish you a happy birthday.”

Ben’s about to reply with some sarcastic joke, when he feels his phone vibrate inside his pocket. He takes it out, seeing he has a text from his brother, Michael, telling him that he’s just outside. 

He looks back up, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, My ride is here. Tell everyone I said hello though.” 

“I will!” she says, opening her arms to pull Ben into another hug. This one is kinder for both of them. “Have a good holiday, Ben.”

“You too,” he hugs back. “Now I hope to get out of here without anyone else seeing me.” He says it with a chuckle, but is half serious. 

“Oh, stop,” she lets go and playfully pushes him. 

“See you next year,” he chuckles, walking towards the exit. The laugh is force, and they can both tell.

“See ya, Benny,” she smirks with a wistful sigh, waving at him.

Ben waves back before he walks into the lobby, and that’s the last glimpse he sees of her as she turns around and heads in the opposite direction.

He gives his best to the security guard at the front desk, who shakes his hand after Ben hands him the envelope that had been sitting in his sweatpants pocket. 

When he walks outside, he looks for his brother’s car in the parking lot, which is easier than he thought because the first thing he sees is his dog, Frankie, at the window, barking at him. He smiles, making his way to the car.

“Hey, bro!” his brother says, as soon as he unlocks the passenger door. 

Ben ignores him as he says his hellos to Frankie, rubbing at her head and muzzle and bringing her close to his chest. “That’s a good girl,” he cooes, “Did you miss me? Did you miss me?”

Michael scoffs. 

“I see how it is,” he mutters as Ben shoes the dog into the backseat and sits down.

“Oh, shut it,” Ben says, doing his belt and turning to face his brother. “I missed you too, of course.”

The two of them clasp hands and pat one another on the back. It has been far too long since they last saw each other. 

“Just not as much as Frankie,” Ben mutters.

“Oi!”

The brothers have a hearty laugh together. 

“Ready to go home?” Michael asks as it dies down.

“Yeah,” Ben nods softly, looking back at Frankie, who’s now trying to get to Ben. Seeing this as an invitation, the dog clambers onto his lap. Ben’s so used to it by now that he doesn’t care much, starting to pet her absentmindedly as Michael drives up to the booth at the edge of the studio grounds. 

“See, I told you he was my brother!” Michael falls out to the attendant, who rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he presses the button to lift the barrier.

The car crests over the speed bump and onto the main road, just as Ben begins humming along to whatever song is on the radio. 

“What’s that?” Michael asks, a few moments later, pointing to the present on Ben’s bag on the floor. 

“Oh, just a gift from Jacqueline,” Ben tells him, looking out the window at the streets of Hertfordshire, which at this hour are mostly empty. 

“You didn’t open it yet?” Michael asks as they come to a stoplight. 

“No, she told me not to,” Ben says with a sigh. “I have to wait for Christmas.” 

“Oh, well that’s rubbish,” his brother laughs, but Ben gives him a look. “No, you’re right, that’s really nice of her. She’s the only one that gave you a gift, huh?” 

“I’m sure if I went to the Christmas party I would’ve gotten gifts from other people too,” Ben mutters, adjusting his legs beneath Frankie.

He’s not sure if he’s right in thinking that, but he wants to believe he is. He’d like to think they all would be missing him this evening. Not because he craved the attention, but rather because he hoped they still cared about him after all this time. 

“She likes you,” Michael tells him with an air a playfulness in his voice.

“I hope so, we’re friends,” Ben sighs, choosing to ignore whatever taunt lies behind his brother’s words.

“You know what I mean, Ben,” Michael smirks, eyeing him as he speeds the car back up again. 

“No I don’t,” Ben furrows his eyebrows, looking over at his brother. 

“She like likes you,” Michael says, slowly to make sure Ben understands. 

“What are we, twelve?” he asks. 

“Only just,” his brother grins. 

Ben shakes his head. 

“Nah, she doesn’t feel that way,” Ben explains “She has a boyfriend.” 

“Oh, does she?” Michael chuckles. “I pity him then. Girlfriend crushing on her hunky SOAP costar.”

“Mike, he’s an actor too,” Ben laughs awkwardly. 

“Really? What’s he on?” 

“The Only Way is Essex or some toss like that,” he tells him. 

“Oh, you do not want to mess around with that lot then,” Michael chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, he’d mess me up all right.”

Ben sighs as the car makes the turn to get on the motorway. Because there’s more to it than that. 

“Besides, I’d have to tell her someday that I hate my job,” he adds, “and I wouldn’t want to upset her.”

“You haven’t told her?” Michael asks, incredulously.

“No, why would I? She can’t do anything about it,” Ben shakes his head. 

In fact, Ben hadn’t told anyone besides Mike about his feelings towards Eastenders. He’d kept a very tight lip for the past year or so, not knowing how else to act. It was his breakout role according to every gossip magazine that had him pose shirtless, and he was becoming a recognized name - among older housewives and teenage girls. It felt wrong to complain about any of it, even with all the understandable downsides of the gig. Who was he to turn up his nose at fame.

“Look, Ben, I know I've said this before,” Michael began, interrupting Ben’s thoughts, “But if you hate the show so much why don’t you leave?” 

“I can’t,” Ben scoffs. They’d had the conversation at least three times over the past year and a half, ever since Michael had first come to visit him on set and asked why he looked so drained afterwards. Each time Ben repeated the same answer. And each time, Michael said,

“Why not? People leave all the time.” 

Ben sighs, pushing Frankie off his lap. He ignores her whimpers from the backseat as he presses his head against the glass of the car window. It’s cool from the December winds, but it’s soothing right now as his temple begins to throb. 

“I’d just just be known as that fit ex soap opera star, I wouldn’t go anywhere. At least I’m something with this show.” Ben shrugs. 

“That’s not true, Ben. There’s plenty of roles out there, you just have to find one that suits you.” Michael tells hims. A different way of telling the same story. 

“I’ve tried auditioning for big budget movies, they never work out,” Ben says. “Maybe mum and dad were right, being an actor isn’t realistic.” He thinks back to a couple years ago when he nervously told his parents he was going to London to pursue acting as a career. The hesitation they’d had to give him their support. How happy his mum had been when he booked the job.

“It’s definitely a tough business,” Michael murmurs. “But you’ve got to work for the big roles.”

Ben shakes his head. Like his brother with the English degree would know anything about the industry. He decides to make a joke of it. 

“Why can’t I be like, the next James Bond, or something,” Ben whines.

“Well first off, Daniel Craig has not retired yet,” Michael chuckles. “Second off, you’re only twenty years old, you’ve got your whole life to become something as big as James Bond.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m already old and a has-been,” Ben says, seriously now. 

“I don’t know. Because I swear, just yesterday you were five and afraid to sleep in the dark because E.T. was going to get you,” Michael reminds him.

Ben rolls his eyes, looking back at Frankie and smiling when he sees she’s asleep, spread across the whole backseat. 

He knows what he has to do. He knows Michael is right, as much as he hates to do it. He’s gotta get out of there before it kills his soul. But the uncertainty of searching for new gigs and the audition process scare him. Change and the unknown both make him nervous. 

“Look what they’re playing next,” Michael says, snapping Ben out of his thoughts. 

Michael turns the volume up, and Ben furrows his eyebrows when he hears the opening note of Vienna by Billy Joel.

“Billy Joel?” Ben says. 

“Isn’t fate funny? This song is for you, Benny,” Michael smirks.

“Why is everyone calling me that today?” Ben asks with a groan.

Michael ignores him, and instead starts singing along loudly to the song. He’s tone deaf and offbeat but his booming voice carries. 

_Slow down, you crazy child  
You're so ambitious for a juvenile  
But then if you're so smart, then tell me  
Why are you still so afraid?_

Ben rolls his eyes, turning the volume down as the second verse comes in. He looks back at Frankie it once more, and she still looks asleep even with the noise.

“Hey!” Michael exclaims. 

“Michael, I’m not a child. I’m only three years young-“

“Just listen,” he stops him, turning up the volume again.

_But you know that when the truth is told  
That you can get what you want or you can just get old_

Ben sighs, leaning back into his seat and looking out the window once more. He tries to block out the rest of the song, but he can’t. Not with his brother blasting it and singing along like it’s karaoke. 

As Ben watches the town disappear behind them and the rolling fields and hills slowly rise on either side of the road, he thinks about how he’d phrase this all to his manager. He couldn’t be so blunt with him. He’d kill him. 

_You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through, ooh_

Despite his brother’s crooning, Ben closes his eyes and leans his head on the glass, hoping he can somehow fall asleep and nap for the rest of the way home. Lord knows he needs it. 

_When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?_


End file.
